Origins
by Sk3lleton
Summary: All things go to Hell on Drake's mission. Literally ALL things. I thank thebarnyardlongshot and Rocker54 for the minor use of their characters.


Origins

"Sometimes, the bad will rise, sometimes the good will fall... Who wins makes no difference as long as we all live. The world doesn't always need a hero, just a person to change it..."

2016.

On the top of the hill, he sat with a scoped revolving sniper rifle. This was a makeshift rifle, for it was really no more than a long-barrelled pistol with a scope.

Drake had a thing for using whatever he had. Resources were low after the outbreak, but none had it worse than the hardworking bulls in the military.

At least Drake had left the military.

It had been so long...

- 5 Years Before the Werewolf/Vampire Outbreak -

Drake lay on the same hill, overlooking a large hotel which had 3 stories and a pool in the back.

"Nice place for such a bloody idiot," He said to himself. His English accent was strong and deep, and he had to almost whisper because it carried rather well.

Drake wasn't an "honest" man, just one looking for an easy way to get paid. His Special Forces days were over, and he'd learned plenty of ways to kill. A conscience wasn't exactly a problem for him.

Peering carefully through the scope of his Dragonuv, he saw a large red Ferrarri pull up to the front. 3 bulls emerged from it, one taking a suitcase from the trunk. Drake resisted the urge to shoot them down; they were not his target. They were obviously unaware of his presence, although one looked in Drake's direction. He ducked quickly, hoping his rifle's barrell did not shine in the moonlight. After a few seconds he returned to his position, and saw that the group had moved on.

Typical for a team of drug traders to be so oblivious. They couldn't think like an assassin.

Drake trailed them with his scope, and they entered the main lobby. The glass was colored and difficult to see through, so he relied on following shadows. If his weapon had been silenced he would have shot a hole in the window, but he had no such provisions. His sidearm was not accurate enough for this, so it was pointless to fire it. The shadow's movements became very slow, and Drake became bored. The tedious following almost made him yawn. Eventually he saw them make their way up a large set of stairs, and one took what seemed to be a silenced pistol. This made him question their motives, as most drug trafficers didn't hold guns out on their deals before any trouble even emerged, especially silenced.

Drake had less than a second left to make his decision, shoot or stay, as they reached the door.

His finger felt the trigger, and in the fraction of a second he had he sent a round through the wielder's head, and the window shattered in a display of red and green. The other two around the now dead bull now gathered quickly, and Drake aimed for the second. His time was too limited, and his shot early; it arced harmlessly around the bull's head. Within another half second Drake fired again, this time connecting harsly with the side of the bull's head, blood pouring out and the bull falling over either dead or in shock from the drop in blood pressure.

"Thank goodness for semi-automatic weaponry," He said to himself.

The third had ran into the room, and Drake noted it was room 17 before discarding his Dragunov and running with his OTs-38 in hand. He broke through the hotel door, dashed up the stairs, and carefully stopped outside room 17's door. His breath held and his revolver cocked, he smashed through the door and pointed his gun around. No one was there. Behind him, on the other side of the door was a small creak. He fired repeatedly through the wall, and heard some animal fall over dead. Turning around again quickly, Drake saw the window's curtains blowing. He lowered his pistol, thinking that they must have escaped. As he did this the last bull from the car jumped out from behind a hallway, and Drake instinctively drew and fired before the other bull could even show his second leg.

"Thought you'd be clever, eh?" Drake asked the now dead body, almost laughing at this. The target had to be around here somewhere. There was sound from the bathroom, running water. Guessing that this was a trap, Drake took the other direction. Throwing a bedroom door open, Drake saw his target tied up.

"Sorry about this," an indistinct voice said.

Drake felt a gun crack the back of his neck, and fell into unconsciousness.

- An Unknown Time Later -

Drake's eyes opened slowly, his mind still not fully conscious. All he could comprehend in this wounded state was shadows, and there were plenty. The outline of a ladder, chairs, and some metal tools stood out. Although still not really thinking, he could already tell he was either in a warehouse or a shed.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted by a tapping on his forehead. He looked up to see pig, relatively tall, wearing a white suit and holding some sort of cane. Drake had not even the strength to look up, and tried to move his eyes to face this pig.

This was the pig that had been his target.

The fact that Drake was still on his mission jolted him back to reality, his muscles finally moving.

"You, you're the bloody drug lord!" Drake yelled at him.

The pig laughed and stared into Drake's eyes. "I'm glad you have the recognition, assassin... After all, three months doesn't do too well to most people."

Drake hoped he had hidden his surprise. A coma for three months? From just a gun to the neck? He still wasn't sure if this was a bluff, but he decided to find out.

"Must've used something quite strong to keep me under that long, pig..." He said in an almost accusing tone.

"Nothing more than a little, well, actually I doubt you'd want to know," The pig replied.

"If you doubt I'd want to know you obviously don't know me," Drake told him without thinking.

"Too bad. Still not going to tell you," the pig stated simply. "

"Well, now that we're all back in the world talking, I suppose you'd like to be untied, assassin?"

For the first time since his awakening Drake thought about his bindings. From the rough scrape he could tell without looking that they were rope, but thick. He'd need a knife to break through himself. "And what exactly would you want from me?" Drake asked cautiously.

The pig laughed again. "Immediately to business, are we?" The pig's face grew serious. He took from his suit a small blade, and held it to Drake's neck. "I'll tell you exactly what I want. Who employed you and how did you get my plans?"

Drake was cornered. He didn't know his employer's name, and if he revealed his tacticts he would either end up being killed or copied. There was only a few seconds to make a lie. "Joseph, um.. Pendragon was my employer, and I found you by searching all the hotels in the state," Drake lied, much more convincingly than he could tell.

He must have said something significant, because the pig looked at him in shock. "Joseph tried to have me killed? And he used the psuedonym 'Pendragon?'" The pig yelled.

Drake eased up. He had something going well for once. "Yes, I suppose he did. You know him?" Drake asked, acting as if he knew what he was talking about.

"He's my right hand man," the pig replied. "Assassin, you have been of surprising use to me. A shame I have to still do this." The pig reached forward again with his knife, and Drake shoved down with his head, biting the pig's hoof. The knife fell to the floor, and guards were already trying to come in. Drake slammed his head into the pig's skull, and the pig fell over knocked out. Drake allowed himself to fall to the side, the knife behind him, and grab the knife to free himself. There was a red line on the metal door, someone was cutting an opening. Drake knew he had only a few seconds. Frantically slicing, the rope eventually fell free. In the same second, the door crashed down. Drake jumped up, swinging the chair, and it collided with an M4 wielding guard's head. The guard fell over. In the same motion, Drake threw the chair into the other guards and scraped the M4 off the ground. He cocked it to make sure it worked, and it did. An unused bullet flew out. Switching instinctively to fully automatic fire, Drake tore easily through the guard's light armor. From behind, there was a sound, and he immediately turned. Another squad was there, his target the pig still on the ground. Not enough time to kill him now, Drake thought. He ran out with guns chasing him, no openings in sight. One option left. Drake ran back towards the squad, now using the semi-automatic firing mode and shooting only the exposed heads. Taking cover behind a wall, Drake set a trap. He poked the gun out and the bullets from the guards rained down. A small roll of tape was there, and Drake unraveled it. He taped it to his gun, and threw the gun out. The guards advanced, and instantly tripped over the invisible strand. Prepared already, Drake rolled out and grabbed the M4, shooting down every guard as quickly as the fire rate allowed. Right away he went back to the room, and looked quickly inside. No one was there. A window was high up, the only exit. The target had gone. Drake sighed with disgust and exited through the window. On a large screen on the building he had just been in, there was the date. The good news was that the pig had been bluffing; he hadn't been out for three months.

He had been out for five.

"Bloody hell," Drake said to himself. He looked around and saw no one. Hopefully there was at least a car around to get away with.

- Hours Later -

Drake stopped walking and looked around again. No cars, no civilians, nothing. Normally Drake would have enjoyed this, but it was eerie. Almost as if something wasn't regular about this city. Putting worry behind, Drake looked at the hospital in front of him. At least it could be a temporary shelter.

He walked into it and immediately was met with a horrific sight. All of the walls were covered in blood.

Drake walked carefully with his M4 drawn. A door creaked, and he almost fired into it. From another room he heard the quiet, yet distinct, beep of a lifeline. It died suddenly. The piercing note made his blood run cold.

Suddenly it stopped and the room was silent again. A sound came from behind another door, shocking Drake. A rat ran out from behind it. More silence.

He heard a scream from down the hallway. Putting his M4 on his back, Drake hid behind another wall and peered over. A bull, one wearing a doctor's white lab coat, was surrounded by some sort of horrible creatures.

"It will only sting a bit!" One of them mocked in a rasping voice.

"Over in a second!" Another said.

They stabbed the doctor with syringes. He screamed in pain. Drake couldn't watch any longer.

He took the M4 from his back and spun from his cover.

"What are you things?" Drake yelled. "Get away!"

The first thing reached for the doctor's neck and choked it.

"Or else, I suppose?" It asked in a rasping voice.

Drake pointed his M4 at it's head. It was definitely a male of whatever it was.

The thing snapped the doctor's neck.

"Well, I suppose you aren't going to do anything about it now," the thing said smugly.

"You, you thing, you're just one of these bloody-"

The thing grabbed Drake by the neck as Drake tried to yell.

"One?" The thing asked. "I like that. I'll keep it."

He looked around at the others.

"You hear that? Call me One!"

They laughed.

That was the last thing Drake heard or saw before he blacked out from lack of oxygen.

- Another Unknown Time Later -

Drake was conscious, but this time he didn't open his eyes so no one would know. It didn't work.

"He's coming back to us," A thing called out.

"Good, I wish to speak to him," One rasped. "Is he watching?"

"His eyes are closed, so I suppose not," The other replied. "I'll get him up."

Drake instantly felt a surge of electricity go through him. His eyes opened wide and he jolted up.

"Excellent!" One said. "Now, we know about you, assassin. Are you quite comfortable?"

Drake looked in disgust. Around him were machines, and several needles and IV lines went into his arms and legs. Where was he now? "Just bloody great, One," he replied bitterly.

One laughed. "Shutdown the system and leave me, I want to speak to him," One told the thing at the computer. It pressed a button and all the needles retracted. It then walked away.

"Well, assassin," One said. "Here we are again."

Drake tried to walk forward but he was weak, possibly from blood drainage.

"Here again?" Drake asked.

One stared. "You don't recognize it? This used to be a military base. Now there's just us. Take a look..."

Drake walked forward, holding on to the wall for balance. There was a large glass barrier and more of the things behind it.

"What the hell are you?" Drake yelled. He was already slipping, losing control.

"You don't recognize us? We were in the legends," One told him.

"We are stronger."

Drake lost his balance and began to fall.

"We are faster."

Drake was going down quickly.

"We are the best."

Drake collapsed from shock and blood loss, hearing one last thing before going into a coma.

"Welcome to the rise of the Lycans, assassin..."

- Once More, An Unknown Time Later -

Drake's eyes shot open instantly and he sprung up. Wreckage lay around him, with fires still going in the middle of pieces of metal. This was a fresh wreck.

"Bloody hell," Drake said. "Lost in the middle of no where without a proper-"

A shine caught his eye. It was his OTs-38.

"Weapon?" He finished. He picked up the revolver from the sand and dirt. "Well, who left this here?"

There was a small paper nailed to one of the metal slabs. It seemed to be part of an airplane, but Drake didn't know for sure. He took the paper down.

"After reading this, look behind you," Drake read aloud. He turned to see three large Lycans on the hill next to him. He held the OTs-38 as steadily as he could, but when he considered the fact that they have very tough skin - he could tell because One's hand had been particularly rough - he was nervous. He hid it well, but his mind was racing at the possiblilites these foes held.

"Well, what are you looking at?" Drake asked the Lycans, causing them to stare in shock. They had not expected him to be so bold.

"We're looking at our prey," the middle one, a grey and reddish beast, told Drake in an intimidating tone.

Drake stared back without emotion. "Well, get on with it then," Drake replied.

The Lycan stared in surprise. "I suppose we shall then. Wouldn't want any loose ends," He said in a forceful tone. Drake could tell he was trying to sound tough.

Within a second the left Lycan lunged, and Drake dodged easily to the side. He cocked and fired the OTs-38 into the Lycan's side, causing it to scream, yet it was undeterred. It lashed violently at Drake, blood spewing. It was obvious that a shot to the body wasn't going to kill these things. Drake fired into the foot to buy some time. As he ran backward, the other two Lycans came from both sides, and Drake waited until they were close to jump forward, causing them to crash into each other. They recovered in less than a second, causing Drake to be on the run again.

"Why the hell do these kind of things always happen to me?" Drake panted.

They were closing in. The injured one was back in the case, and Drake had only a few feet before they would get him. He spun and shot one in the neck. It fell over and stopped breathing. Whether this was just a temporary stop or not, it was out. Drake wished that was the end. The shot had taken just long enough to allow the others to catch up to Drake. In his last second he shot another one in the chest. It fell over, it's lung pierced. The last one pinned Drake down. His OTs-38 flew aside.

"You're a good one, Subject 337," The Lycan said. This was the leader, the reddish black one. However, it was not One.

Drake stared back in horror. "Subject 337?" He asked, almost not wanting to know.

The Lycan laughed. "We needed a few, well, guinea pigs, so to speak. So die knowing you are no longer your own species. You are one of us!" He yelled.

The Lycan moved to crush and kill Drake. Drake squirmed, and the Lycan threw him. He landed next to him OTs-38, and the the Lycan jumped to maul Drake. In the last second, Drake frantically retrieved the revolver and shot the Lycan as it flew in midair. It went through the head, leaving a small hole. The Lycan fell inches in front of Drake, who stood calmly.

"I was expecting more from things like you," Drake told the dead Lycan.

"Bloody hell," Drake gasped. "Maybe I am a thing like you!"

He rushed to the Lycan's storage pack on it's back, and opened it. Inside were a small digital calendar, a radio communications device, and a log. The log was titled "Subject Statuses" and was bound in strong materials which Drake couldn't exactly point out. He decided to look at the calendar first.

The date shocked him.

It was 2015.

Two years had passed since he had tried to kill the drug lord pig.

Remaining resolute, Drake picked up the radio and strapped it to his jeans. He noted that he hadn't been wearing jeans at the military base. Next he opened the log to look up "337."

What he saw didn't simply shock him; it terrified him.

It read:

"SUBJECT 337

DATE OF TEST: JUNE 18TH, 2014.

DETAILS: The test subject, after being infected with strain 7.625Y of the virus, there was no common reaction. The body appeared to completely reject this strain and even counteract it. However, blood samples show that the body does in fact have the virus. It fuels itself. This one must be killed, as it is likely to both spread, mutate, and ultimately cure the virus. Disposal by dropship is planned as soon as possible, but we must wait for the AA cannons to be built. Estimated launch date is October 8th, 2015. When disposed of, this lone record of the subject's reaction will be destroyed. The secret must not be revealed, or our plans may be endangered.

Let us hope our clean up is successful."

There was a small part burned off where a signature once was. Drake closed it and felt dirty. He was one of THEM. There had to be a better example. He turned to the first page. This had been a military journal!

Drake focused on the first entry, which was in neat handwriting:

"Subject 001.

Testing date Aug. 21st 2013.

Entry:

This subjects finall injection has been a success. The vampire army will be benefitted greatly! The procedure took place as normal. More funds will be given to us so we may continue our project. As the rise of the werewolves becomes greater, we need something to harness their power."

Drake looked in disbelief. Werewolves? Vampires? What the hell had happened to the world? Granted, he had been out for some time between two and three years, but that didn't make supernatural entities sensible.

"Damn," Drake said. It was all he could think of. Ignoring the fact that he was potentially infected, that he was in an open warzone, that his latest job had failed, and that his only weapon was a pistol, Drake looked over the wasteland.

It wasn't going to be a short journey. Silently there was a hope that Drake would find an abandoned supply depot, or some sort of shelter. This was not likely.

Drake spun the chamber of his OTs-38 and took his first step.

- 6 months later -

On the top of the hill, he sat with a scoped revolving sniper rifle. This was a makeshift rifle, for it was really no more than a long-barrelled pistol with a scope.

During his trip Drake had picked up a few new supplies. He'd had many battles, and there were even rumors that he might have a bounty on his head.

He didn't care either way. It would just add to the fun.

Now Drake sat in front of an abandoned hotel, one he had attempted to kill a drug lord at. He saw many more Lycans show up in front.

"The more the bloody merrier," Drake said quietly to himself.

They exited their armored vehicle and Drake instantly put a round through one's head. The others became shocked, and Drake chuckled at their lack of coordination. He shot again, taking one through the car it hid behind. Then only two remained, so Drake stood to fire with a better view. When he shot one, he heard a loud roar. A lycan three times the average size walked out.

"Of course," Drake said wearily. "Why do I have to have a bloody pistol?" He looked around.

In the grass lay Drake's Dragunov from years before!

"HELL YES!" Drake shouted in joy. He picked it up. A bit rusty, but in perfect working condition. Only the external parts of the sniper had been affected.

He cocked it. It loaded as if it were new.

"Sometimes I just don't know what I'd do without a good sniper," Drake said. He turned to see the large lycan holding a minigun. In less than a second Drake ducked to avoid the incoming bullets.

He turned to the lycan.

He looked through the scope and into it's eyes.

"WAVE GOODBYE TO YOUR HEAD, YOU BLOODY WANKER!" Drake yelled to it.

He pulled the trigger and one bullet went through it's eye. Instantly recovering from the recoil, he shot the other eye as the lycan fell.

"I'll see you in Hell, mate," Drake told the dead body as he descended the hill.

He was interrupted by a lycan slamming him to the side of the armored truck.

"Well that's not a nice greeting, is it, One?" Drake asked. "Enjoying the scar?"

The lycan stared back in anger and disgust. He had a large gash on the side of his head from a sniper shot.

"Let's just say the only thing I like about you is your poor aim," One replied curtly.

"I was at nearly two thousand feet using a weapon effective at one thousand five hundred," Drake told One. "I thought it was still a pretty good shot."

Drake laughed at the lycan.

"You know, I've been looking for you, Drake," One said. "I had something you left behind."

Drake was curious. "Well, shall I see it then?"

One looked back with a grin. "I'll show you," He replied. He took Drake's weapons and walked him into the hotel.

"I know you hate this infection, Drake," One began. "And you understand how we used you. Well we wanted to make sure you couldn't be changed back. So we made this."

One held up a small vial of blood.

"An antidote," One said.

Drake stared hungrily. "Why are you telling me this?"

"To tie up a loose end, so to speak. And so I give you a test, Drake," One told Drake cryptically. "You can have the antidote for yourself. Or you can send it and cure the world."

Drake was already questioning his next move.

"This cannot be duplicated, Drake. It is unique. Only your blood can engineer the cure," One said with sick satisfaction.

Drake decided. He lunged and took the vial. His hand swung back, and hit One behind the head. One tripped forward, taking out an M9 and aiming quickly for Drake. Drake threw the vial in the air and kicked. One fell over, his M9 flying through the air. Drake caught it and fired into One's body. The vial rapidly approached the ground, and Drake caught a few inches above the tough carpet.

More lycans were coming. One was alive. The M9 was empty and none of the other guns loaded. No time was left for Drake.

"I'll be back to kill you, One," Drake vowed. He ran to the armored truck and stole it.

Drake clutched the vial tightly, and put it into a small compartment in the truck. This had been the original way it was transported.

After many miles, the truck ran out of gas. All that Drake had left was his OTs-38, and little ammunition for that.

Drake exited the truck and sat on a fallen tree, the antidote in his hand. What should he do? It could be replicated. The world could be saved.

Drake thought about what that would mean. After all he had lost, and all he had gained, he wasn't sure the world deserved to be saved.

An assassin's choice changed nothing. But it could have.

Drake took a syringe from the truck. He extracted the antidote and put half into a fresh vial.

"Someday, this may be useful," He said to himself.

Drake injected the syringe into his arm.

He blacked out as it spread through his veins, and in his last seconds awake he put the other half into the back of the truck, which he had not seen before. It had plenty of medical equipment.

- 2 Days Later -

Drake woke suddenly with high energy. He quickly took a blood sample and put it into a machine, which tested the presence of the virus.

The results were astonishing. The machine nearly had to reboot to calculate them.

It displayed:

"ERROR

Unknown infection.

Details: Sample shows no change in cells, but Lycanic presence exists. Organism is not infected but is not clean. Balance of Lycan and bull DNA has been reached."

Drake nearly cheered.

He had power. Strength, speed, and quick healing. He was a force to be reckoned with, as his form would not change, but his potential could only increase.

Drake took his OTs-38 from the driver seat. He put it in a holster he had stolen from the truck.

There was one piece of business left. There was a pig to assassinate.

Drake walked onward, looking out for anyone that could find him.

It was a good thing he was always prepared.

Two bulls and a cow were trying to sneak up on him. They had come from a nearby shelter.

Drake grinned to himself and cocked his OTs-38.

"This should be fun," Drake said to himself, as the three possible enemies jumped out from around.

Good thing Drake had some new abilities on his side.

THE END (Or is it just the beginning?)

EPILOGUE/EXPLANATION:

For those of you new or lost, this ends seconds before Drake's meeting (and shooting the hand of) DJ, Miller, and Daisy. This is "continued" in The Arrival. Just thought that would be good to clear up.

Also, the next edition will be a prequel explaining Drake's origins and his deeper past. Just to get you thinking: What did he mean by what he lost? What did he mean by what he gained?

My best wished to my fellow writers thebarnyardlongshot and Rocker54,

I hope everyone enjoyed!


End file.
